Shame

One of the recurring themes in this little blog is the feelings of shame I have lived with for most of my life, and my current struggle to become free of them. So recently I’ve been pondering the subject of shame: what is it? what is it for? why is it so debilitating?

It seems to me that in one sense, shame is as essential for social health as pain is for physical health. Like pain, shame is an unpleasant feeling that normally indicates to us that something has gone wrong. It is our way of internalizing other people’s attitudes toward our actions. It provides us with a powerful inhibitor for antisocial behaviour — the prospect of feeling ashamed makes us think twice before doing something socially unacceptable. In an ideal world, of course, people would be motivated purely by the positive rewards that come from acting respectfully toward others, but realistically, we seem to need the stick in addition to the carrot.

I once knew someone who suffered from chronic pain. It didn’t matter what she was doing, what position she was in — moving, standing still, sitting, lying down — she was constantly in pain. She was unable to find any medication that would relieve her suffering; drugs that were somewhat effective in dulling the pain had such terrible side effects that they were worse than useless. Normally when we feel pain, it makes us realize that we have an injury or illness we need to take care of. In her case, I suppose, the pain was indicating something, but since nothing could be done about the root cause, it was not fulfilling any real function. I believe shame can be quite similar. Sometimes, it causes needless suffering without accomplishing anything positive at all.

Sometimes shame is associated with actions. We make an offhand remark and quickly realize it has hurt someone, and we feel ashamed. Perhaps that feeling prompts us to apologize, to try to make things right. But sometimes, shame is associated with things over which we have no control. A child’s parents can’t afford to buy him the kind of clothes that will make him look fashionable, and he feels ashamed. I met an elderly lady once, a woman of colour, who powdered her face so that her complexion would not look so dark. This, it seems to me, is the kind of shame that is profoundly harmful, that festers away deep inside us, that eats away at our soul.

As a young person beginning to experience sexual feelings, I was soon faced with an impossible dilemma. Within the framework of the Christian world-view I was raised in, to accept the feelings I had toward members of my own sex as part of my nature would mean I must by nature be perverted, evil, given over to depravity. On the other hand, trying to deny these feelings, or overcome them like a bad habit, led inevitably to failure and further feelings of guilt. Shame soon became a defining part of my personality, and coloured many aspects of how I viewed myself. Gradually, I realized that I could no more change my homosexuality than I could change the colour of my skin, and I was ashamed of who I was.

In recent months, as I have begun my journey toward self-acceptance, I have found myself understanding the idea of gay pride in a way I never did before. I used think it was a rather aggressive, in-your-face approach. Why should people take special pride in being gay? Why should they flaunt their sexuality for all to see? But now, it makes perfect sense to me. In fact, it seems so obvious I can’t imagine why I couldn’t see it before. It means not being ashamed of who we are. It means taking pride in ourselves as human beings and rejecting the negative attitudes imposed on us by others.

A twenty-five-year-old wound doesn’t heal overnight, and my situation makes the process particularly challenging. But I am blessed with some amazing friends and family, and I’m hopeful that with time, I will be able to fully accept myself, and be accepted, for who I am.